“What is Soot?” Sebastian begins to question her, like a catechist checking her lessons, his chin still resting on his chest. His left hand has, quite naturally, sought out her knee and is petting it distractedly.

“Spent Smoke,” she answers.

“Is it live?”

“No. Inert.”

“Can it be quickened?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“You showed us how. Some chemical substance, mixed into the Soot.”

“Herbal, my dear, not chemical. Precipitating a weak reaction! Only the blackest Soot, only briefly, and at tremendous cost. A field of flowers for a dozen cigarettes. And then? Three short puffs, and half an hour of borrowed emotion!”

“Flowers? What flowers?” she interjects, confused, but Sebastian is too absorbed in his thoughts to answer.

“Now then. Do you want to do the honours?” He looks up, smiles expectantly, then immediately discards the idea. “No, it’ll be better if I! Shall we? Only get ready to jump! On three: one, two. .”

He places the pipette into the little mound of Soot, releases the blood. The next moment he has pulled her up with him, and leapt two paces back.

“Wait for it!” he mutters.

Nothing stirs. Then, his elbow prodding hers with excitement, the Soot combusts, belches a violent jet of Smoke into the air, from which they flee into the corner of the room. Chest-high, the Smoke reverts to Soot; snows down in ashen flakes onto the floor only to reignite as though by magic, leaping up in jerky puffs, like kernels of corn thrown on a sizzling pan. Each little explosion carries with it a spray of lighter Smoke, the Soot of the floorboards whispered into pale life. It is as though the very room is exhaling its sin. Two, three times the cycle repeats. Then it ceases, quietly and suddenly. Nothing is left of the inky scoop they emptied on the floor. Sebastian runs over to it, crouches, runs his fingers over the patch of floorboard that lies pale and naked as though bleached.

Livia stands breathless, her voice brittle with fear. “What just happened, Sebastian?”

“A dress rehearsal. For the Great Quickening! But hush, now, hush.”

“But that Soot you used. It’s evil!”

“Oh yes, evil, pure as pure!”

“And the blood. It was infected, wasn’t it?”

“Infected, yes, but still fighting the infection. Neither one nor the other. The body rejecting its new state. A narrow window!”

“So that’s what you want from Mowgli.” She raises her hands in front of her, fingers spread wide, as though trying to take hold of something floating in the air. “The Great Quickening! Tell me, how can that bring justice?”